(1988) The Golden Room

by Irving Wallace

  ‘He’s well-nourished,’ Bruce snapped. ‘He’s strong.’

  Clifford walked around the friendly brown colt, patting his body, then stopped to study his legs.

  ‘Small,’ Clifford said again. ‘Delicate, I suspect.’

  ‘Strong,’ Bruce persisted.

  Clifford extracted a card from his pocket and studied it. ‘The breeding record doesn’t promise too much.’

  ‘His dam showed in the Futurity.’

  ‘A poor third,’ said Clifford. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think he’d be much of a horse to run. I might be able to use him for stud. I think I can make you an offer of $500.’

  ‘No more?’

  ‘Not a cent more.’

  Karen pulled Bruce aside. ‘Don’t accept it, Bruce. Someone else will come along.’

  Bruce returned to Clifford. ‘I don’t know. I’d like a little more time to make up my mind.’

  ‘You make up your mind, young man,’ Clifford said. ‘I’ll be leaving Chicago three days after the Derby.’

  ‘I’ll give you an answer by then,’ Bruce promised.

  After Clifford had left, Bruce and Karen remained behind in the stall.

  Studying his horse as it munched hay, Bruce said, ‘Even if I sold him, the buying price wouldn’t go very far. Not enough to restart a stable of my own in Kentucky.’

  Karen stared at him. ‘Are you saying you’d have to take a job with Armbruster - and what goes with it?’

  ‘I’m not saying anything yet,’ Bruce protested. ‘I’m only saying I have a father who is an invalid, who is about to lose his home, and I’m the only person who can help him. I’m trying to keep reality in perspective, Karen.’

  ‘What about your sister?’ asked Karen. ‘She’s marrying into the Armbruster family.’

  ‘Impossible,’ said Bruce. ‘She couldn’t ask for money from the Armbrusters. We’re supposed to be a well-off Southern family. That’s why we’re staying with our aunts, so that we’ll appear to be more than we are. No, it’s all up to me.’

  ‘Well, what are you going to do?’ She hesitated. ‘Except marry Judith Armbruster.’

  Bruce ignored her remark. ‘I have two choices for the moment. One is to sell Frontier for what Clifford offered. If I do that I’ll have no horse and almost no money. The second is to let Frontier run in the American Derby for the $25,000 purse. I’ve already had him entered, but he’ll be up against big favourites like The Picket and he doesn’t stand much of a chance. He doesn’t have stamina. He doesn’t even have a jockey.’

  ‘Find a jockey,’ Karen persisted. ‘I see no other choice.’

  Bruce sighed. ‘I’ve already tried. The top jockeys are signed for other entries. The rest of them wouldn’t ride a long shot without a guaranteed payment and for only a percentage of his winnings.’

  Unhappily, Karen turned away from the stall to leave. ‘I guess your best bet is still Judith Armbruster.’

  Bruce followed her out into the stable area, about to protest, when he was diverted by a red Ford chugging towards them. Edmund was at the wheel with Minna Everleigh, her face covered with a veil, beside him and Dr Herman Holmes in the rear seat.

  Minna was waving to them. As the Ford came up to them and stopped, Minna called down, ‘Bruce, what are you doing here? We’re just having a look around before the Derby. Bruce Lester, meet our family physician, Dr Holmes.’ Turning to Holmes, she added, ‘Doctor Holmes, meet Karen Grant.’

  Karen flushed, and momentarily stammered her acknowledgement.

  Dr Holmes touched his derby, smiling. ‘I’ve met Miss Grant. Pleased to know you, Mr Lester.’

  Minna was addressing Bruce. ‘You haven’t told me what you’re doing here.’

  ‘Remember, I mentioned I brought my best horse up from Kentucky, a three-year-old named Frontier? I have him stabled here. I’ve entered him in the American Derby.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Minna.

  ‘Less than wonderful,’ said Bruce. ‘I entered him, but I haven’t got a jockey — I mean, one who’ll ride for only a percentage of the purse.’

  Minna stared at Bruce. ‘You’re looking for a jockey to ride Frontier?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Have you ever heard of a Garrison finish?’

  ‘Of course. When a horse comes from behind to win.’

  ‘Do you know how the expression Garrison finish came into being?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘About ten years ago,’ said Minna, ‘there was a jockey named Ed ‘Snapper’ Garrison. In the Suburban Handicap at Belmont Park, Garrison was riding dead last rounding into the stretch. Then he started a whiplashing run through the

  stretch, coming from last to first to win by a head. That was a typically Garrison finish.’ She paused. ‘Well, Ed ‘Snapper’ Garrison is here in Washington Park today. Have you tried him?’

  ‘Tried him?’

  ‘To be your jockey,’ said Minna, rising. ‘Edmund, will you help me down?’

  On the ground alongside her nephew, Minna adjusted her veil and said, ‘Let me introduce you.’ She grabbed Bruce by the arm. ‘Come along. I just saw Snapper playing chess with a stablehand a few stalls back. He’s an old friend. I want you to meet him.’

  Briskly, Minna led Bruce away, while Karen trailed behind.

  As they approached the two men playing chess, Minna called out and Snapper Garrison jumped to his feet, abandoning the chessboard.

  ‘Wait here a moment,’ Minna said to Bruce.

  She ran ahead to meet Garrison. He peered up at her, puzzled, until she held aside her veil.

  ‘Why, it’s you, Minna -‘

  ‘Shhh,’ whispered Minna, ‘listen. I want you to meet my nephew from Kentucky. He doesn’t know what the Everleigh Club actually is and I don’t want him to know. Don’t mention it. And, Snapper, he thinks my name is Minna Lester.’

  ‘Whatever you say, Minna.’

  ‘Let me bring him over.’

  Minna went back to Bruce and Karen, and guided them towards the jockey.

  Bruce found himself confronting a very abbreviated, middle-aged man, with the wizened face of a small monkey. He greeted Karen with a grin, and was courteous in a brisk way.

  ‘Snapper, do you have a mount for the Derby?’ Minna inquired.

  ‘You know I don’t,’ said Garrison. ‘Except for workouts, I don’t ride anymore. Over the hill, I’m told. Too old.’

  ‘You look spry enough to me,’ Minna said.

  ‘Oh, I am,’ Garrison assured her. ‘I’ve never been in better shape. But nobody else here thinks so.’

  ‘How would you like a mount in the Derby?’ Minna asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Bruce here brought a three-year-old thoroughbred up from the Bluegrass Region. He has him entered in the American Derby. Unfortunately, he hasn’t found a jockey who’ll ride for a percentage. Would you?’

  Snapper Garrison grinned again. ‘That might be better than what I’m earning now. Still, I don’t want to make a fool of myself.’ He took in Bruce. ‘Do you want to show me this colt of yours? What’s his name?’

  ‘Frontier,’ Bruce said.

  ‘All right, let me have a look at him,’ said Garrison.

  Leading Garrison, Minna, and Karen, Bruce brought them to Frontier’s stall and gestured Garrison inside.

  Garrison spent five minutes examining the horse before he emerged.

  ‘A nice horse, a sound one,’ Garrison said. ‘His only problem is that he’s small.’ Garrison’s grin reappeared. ‘Yet, so am I.’

  ‘You’ll ride him?’ said Bruce excitedly.

  ‘Oh, sure,’ said Snapper Garrison. ‘I’ll ride him. But I’ll tell you one thing. Unless there’s hot weather - the hottest May weather - the day of the Derby, he won’t have a chance.’

  ‘And if it’s a hot day?’

  ‘He’ll have a chance,’ said Garrison enigmatically. ‘I was peeking at my Farmer’s Almanac last week. It says the day of the Derby will be a hot
day. So let’s wait and see.’

  Mayor Carter Harrison sat stiffly behind his desk in City Hall, still smarting from the unpleasant meeting he’d had two hours ago.

  The pressure for reform had become unbearable.

  Awaiting his next visitor, he mentally reviewed the high points of this morning’s confrontation.

  The confrontation had been with the thin-lipped, dour Reverend John Stonehill, president of the Municipal Voters’ League.

  ‘You know why I am here, Mayor,’ Stonehill had begun, almost before being seated.

  Harrison had suspected the reason behind the reverend’s request for a talk, but he had not been ready to admit it. ‘To be truthful, I’m not certain why you wished to see me.’

  ‘Reform,’ Stonehill had blurted. ‘Your key campaign promise was that you would eliminate vice in this city, especially in the Levee, and you promised specifically that you would close down the Everleigh Club, which has come to symbolize the worst of Chicago, throughout the nation and the world. On the basis of your promise to instigate reform, the entire Municipal Voters’ League stood behind you and elected you to office. Mr Mayor, we’ve waited patiently. We see not one single shred of evidence that cleanup has begun.’

  Harrison had cleared his throat. ‘Reverend Stonehill, I assure you I have been most active in the area of reform, mainly in my effort to close down the Everleigh Club as an example and warning to all the other lesser houses of ill fame.’

  ‘I see no evidence of movement. I have information that the Everleigh Club is as wide open as ever.’

  ‘Not quite,’ the mayor had insisted, ‘not really. Fewer men are going there, and the Everleighs claim to be operating only a restaurant. Nevertheless, I too suspect a degree of illegal sexual activity still goes on there. To date I’ve been unable to prove it and I must have proof. However, I will confide in you that right now I have an undercover observer there who will bring me indisputable proof of illegal sexual acts. Once I have this proof my chief of police will be able to close the Club. The rest of the clubs will then see the handwriting on

  the wall. They’ll also close down and move to other cities. Trust me, Reverend Stonehill.’

  ‘I trust your sincerity,’ the Reverend Stonehill had said, ‘but I distrust your competence in this matter.’

  ‘I can only say I have been handling this competently.’

  Stonehill had come to his feet. ‘We shall see. We will wait another few weeks for affirmative results. If you still have not fulfilled your campaign promises, I shall - the entire League shall - petition for your resignation.’

  On that threat, the reverend had departed and the mayor had been left to stew over the matter.

  Presently, he had acted. Fearing that his own voice might be recognizable, he had ordered a member of his staff to telephone Calumet 412, the well-known Everleigh Club number. It was blatantly listed in the telephone directory under the name of Aida Everleigh. The aide had been told to get hold of Karen Grant personally and tell her to come to the mayor’s office as soon as possible. She had said she would be there in an hour.

  That had been an hour ago, and Mayor Harrison was becoming increasingly restless when Karen Grant came into the room.

  Harrison wasted no time. ‘Sit down, Karen. We’ve got to have a straight talk.’

  She sat down, but Harrison remained standing.

  ‘If you want to talk about the Everleigh Club I have nothing new to report.’

  ‘Indeed that is what I want to talk about. Before lunch I had Reverend Stonehill of the Municipal Voters’ League in here. He’s demanding I deliver on my campaign promise of reform. If I fail, he’s going to have the League pressure me to resign.’

  ‘You can’t do that -‘

  ‘I won’t have to,’ Harrison said, ‘if I can get faster results from you.’

  ‘I’m doing the best I can, Mayor.’

  ‘It’s not enough.’ He paced agitatedly. ‘Have you seen or do you know of any sexual activity in the Everleigh Club? That’s the question.’

  ‘I simply don’t have an answer yet,’ Karen pleaded. ‘The sisters have only their restaurant open. I’m one of six hostesses. The other girls have been put up in neighbourhood hotels. The Club will remain closed this week and next until the Everleighs’ niece is safely married and gone off on her honeymoon. When the Club reopens I can get the proof you’re waiting for.’

  ‘That’s too long to wait. Isn’t there a nephew here, also?’

  ‘Yes, there is. Bruce Lester.’

  ‘What about him?’ the mayor wanted to know. ‘Maybe he’d give you some evidence that his aunts are really madams.’

  ‘Oh, him. God, no. Bruce thinks they’re socialites with a big house. Forget about Bruce.’

  The mayor eyed Karen keenly. ‘He’s Bruce to you, I see. I gather you’ve become acquainted.’

  ‘Naturally. There are only a handful of us in the Club.’

  ‘Don’t get too involved with this Bruce,’ said the mayor. ‘Don’t be diverted by anyone. Concentrate on the other girls in the Club. They may be doing a little on the side for the Everleighs.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Karen. ‘I’d know.’

  ‘Just make sure, Karen. You’re there to do a job. Your job is to get proof that the Everleighs are still running a house of ill fame. If - temporarily - they’re not, then you must keep your word and let me know the first minute they give the go-ahead sign.’

  ‘I promise you I will.’

  ‘The important thing is that I’ve got to have that brothel closed down before the Municipal Voters’ League tries to force me to resign - and certainly before the prince of Prussia turns up to see our fair city. Indeed, when he sees Chicago, I want to

  be sure it is the fairest city in America. It’s up to you, Karen.’

  The next day, just after finishing their noon dinner, Karen led Cathleen and Bruce out to Minna’s red Ford. Climbing up to the driver’s seat, settling herself behind the wheel, Karen waited while Bruce helped his sister into the front seat and took the back seat for himself.

  While waiting, Karen recalled how this gathering had come about.

  Early in the morning, Edmund had come to Karen’s bedroom.

  ‘Miss Grant,’ he had said, ‘if you are free right now, Miss Minna would like to see you in her office.’

  Wondering what this was all about, Karen had said, ‘I’m perfectly free.’

  She had followed Edmund out of her doorway and downstairs, where she headed for Minna’s office.

  In the office, Karen had found Minna standing beside her desk, staring off.

  ‘There’s something I’d like you to do for me, Karen,’ Minna had begun without any preliminaries.

  ‘Anything you wish, Minna.’

  ‘It has to do with my niece and nephew,’ Minna had said.

  Karen had brightened at once. She had enjoyed being with Bruce at the race course yesterday, and she welcomed any opportunity to be with him again.

  ‘I’d be delighted to do whatever you ask,’ Karen had said.

  ‘My nephew Bruce has been pressing me to take him and Cathleen on a tour of Chicago. He wants to see something of the city before he goes back to Kentucky. I keep promising to show him the sights, but I’m really afraid to do so. Someone might recognize me and spill the truth about who I really am. I took a chance going to Washington Park yesterday, but I really had to wear a veil to keep from being recognized, and I’ll do so again when the Derby is run. I can’t take more chances. Anyway, Bruce told me he’d bumped into you somewhere and you’d offered to take him on a tour. So I thought of you, even though you’re fairly new here. At least your face

  wouldn’t be as familiar as that of one of the other girls. If you would show Bruce and Cathleen the highlights of this city — maybe a few hours - that would get him off my back. Would you consider doing it?’

  ‘Would I?’ Karen had said ardently. ‘I’d love to do it.’

  ‘Then set it up for this afte
rnoon, and feel free to use my car. I’d appreciate that.’

  And so the tour had come to pass, and Bruce and Cathleen were in Minna’s Ford with Karen as their guide.

  Thinking how to best go about the excursion, Karen decided that she would show Bruce and Cathleen the more expensive residential area first, then the leading major boulevards and parks. After that they would plunge into the downtown Loop.

  Karen drove the Ford from Dearborn to Michigan Avenue, and slowly through the green, quiet neighbourhoods of stone mansions owned by millionaires.

  ‘This is the rich residential area of Chicago,’ she explained, recalling what she had seen with the mayor. ‘There are plenty of poor in the city. But there are these wealthy people also. That brownstone you see, the one with towers, minarets, balconies, belongs to Potter Palmer, the hotel magnate. The rooms are all done in the French style, with Corots and Monets on the walls. There’s a ballroom where he once hired the Russian ballet to perform for a party. Palmer’s house has two private elevators, and twenty-seven servants. Look over there. That Gothic on the corner is a $60,000 house that belongs to Charles T. Yerkes, who owns the El trains — the elevateds - and the electric trolley cars. I’m told he sleeps in a bed that the king of Belgium used to own.’

  After pointing out the $200,000 mansions belonging to Marshall Field, Philip Armour, and George Pullman, Karen tired of all this splendour and turned on to Drexel Boulevard. Again slowing, she showed Cathleen and Bruce the main feature of this drive. It was a magnificent park, 200 feet wide, that paralleled the boulevard, a park thickly ornamented with

  walks that wound through trees, shrubbery, plants, and beds of yellow daffodils.

  ‘This leads to Washington Park,’ Karen called over her shoulder to Bruce, ‘where we went yesterday to see Frontier. I’m glad you’re going to run him in the American Derby.’

  ‘Poor man’s roulette,’ murmured Bruce.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Karen. ‘Now let me show you some of the bigger buildings your aunts would want you to see, modern landmarks Chicagoans are proud of.’

  Twisting through the streets, stopping briefly now and then, Karen showed them the Palmer House Hotel, the sixteen-storey Monadnock Building, which filled an entire block, the Home Insurance Building, the Fine Arts Building in spacious Jackson Park, a park 1,500 acres in size with tennis courts and grazing sheep.